Angela Ambroz
A bittersweet, fluffy tale of one young woman's tentative exploration of her sexuality through her teen and college years. Or “uni” years, cuz she's British. I loved the voice and art of this: it was sweet and charming. No one was super mean. The protagonist was nervous/anxious, but this was an altogether upbeat, optimistic story of eventual self-acceptance and love. In some ways, it reminded me of Raina Telgemeier's portrayal of the coming of age of young women - the insecurities, the nerdiness. Really nice.
A sweet, bite-sized version of Susanna Clarke's world. I much preferred her massive tome, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, which I still consider a supreme masterwork of fantasy fiction. Mamma mia.
But that one is, admittedly, a kinda daunting read: 1k pages! This is a much more manageable ~300, and it has many of the same charming qualities of her other book:
- Magical Englishness
- Deep (19th century, capital R) Romanticism
- Characters who are fallible and amusing and fussy
This one has a much slower reveal - the book itself is basically a slow reveal, and we conclude with the “ah ha!” - but there's no surprises, necessarily. Or no false leads; every hint is just a straightforward increment in knowledge.
It was fine, good.
Really bummed that this book defeated me - but this is a DNF. Alas! And it's such a niche topic (not many comix about Renaissance Italy; even fewer about Artemisia Gentileschi) about which I am so passionate! But I couldn't do it. Alas alas alas.
Snarky, sassy professor with overabundant personality tells you that (1) exercise sucks (like, our brains have evolved to avoid it at all costs), but (2) it will help you live better. Type 2 fun! I enjoyed this a lot, actually. I found his sass amusing. I was inspired to run around in no shoes. He also made me understand how to prioritize everything: cardio for longevity, HIIT for VO2 max (sob), strength for quality of life. I loved his anthropological examinations of fitness fads like CrossFit (which I still think is prob the most efficient one? don't @ me, I know about the injuries problem) or, ahem, PRIMAL MOVEMENT (hee hee).
I love the idea of him dragging a treadmill to the Maasai. Was it the Maasai? I also loved his descriptive stats of how much various modern-day nomadic people move.
Light, fast and very, very pop; this is to economics what “Dancing With the Stars” is to... Steve Wozniak. i.e. One features the other, but don't expect to learn much - at least, much reliable stuff. Many of the studies in this are showoffy analyses, some of which have been discredited due to shoddy regressioning.
Levitt considers himself very clever, and there is an element of fun that he brings to the field, but it's not terribly serious. Read this in one sitting, and now I have a stash of party ice breakers which are only potentially dodgy. Hey, did you know that names cycle through the socio-economic classes by decade? And you're less likely to get the interview if you have an identifiably African-American name? Well, possibly. Not sure about the numbers.
I guess Levitt's big contribution, like Jamie Oliver to cooking, is getting people (including economists) excited and inspired again about the field. If you're interesting in stereotype threat though, for example, I'd recommend Claude Steele instead...
Dense, complex and gorgeous illustrations. A powerful and important message. Loved it.
Boring, loutish, unfocused. I know Tank Girl is famous, but why? Curious to read more, but didn't enjoy this.
I always enjoy these essay collections. I was flustered that the editions cover the preceding year, so this one was actually 2019 articles. Aaarghhh. I wanted an overview of Covid science!! Oh well - onto the next one!
This one had lots of gems. Stuff that really struck me:
- The horrors of California wildfires, as experienced on the ground.
- Two excellent paleontology articles (who knew I loved paleontology so much).
- An adorable buddy movie about astrophysicists trying to find Planet Nine.
- A heartbreaking one about a young girl's mental health.
- A great one about immunotherapy.
Less exciting was the stodgy New Yorker article about natural language processing, large language models (aka, LLMs, aka ChatGPT and “AI”). There wasn't anything explicitly factually incorrect about it - it does a decent job of describing what LLMs are, etc - and I even agreed with some of the opinionated Luddite hand-wringing. But something altogether about it felt cringe.
Kind of elementary stuff (especially for a social wizard such as myself!), but it's always enjoyable to be reminded of basic social skillz - and how to implement them. Eradicating your inner judger is a good idea; complimenting people; making them feel your good ideas are theirs. And so on. That said, for slightly more effective social skill-building, I think Dr. David Burns' (the CBT guru) books are more helpful. They provide concrete tips that you can start applying immediately - plus, Burns is hokey, but not Dale Carnegie 1940s hokey.
Which brings me to one of this book's nicest qualities: its adorable old timeyness. The text just REEKS of wartime yammer yammer, what with Dale Carnegie's jokey, newsreel voice, and constant references to grand Americana like Lincoln's letters or some rich, foundational kabillionaire (Schwab, Carnegie, Rockefeller) schmoozing with his guppy fish on the factory floor. It's all very enchanting and cute and - well, gosh darn it - full of gumption and spirit! It's like listening to Col. Potter from MAS*H give you a stern-but-loving talking-to. How can you not feel warm and fuzzy inside?
A raw story about addiction, mental illness, immigration, race, and religion vs. science. This is the story of Gifty, a Ghanaian-American woman who was raised in Alabama and is now pursuing a PhD in neuroscience at Stanford. Early on, we learn that her older brother died from a drug overdose, and her mother suffers from bouts of major depression. Meanwhile, Gifty works in a lab dedicated to finding neurosciencey ways to fight... addiction and mental illness.
So honestly I would have rated this 3 stars, but the very end killed me. If your life has been touched by mental illness and addiction, this book is just a super sad, super raw read. Gifty is an unpleasant narrator - she's self-righteous, prim, provincial - but she's also, like, just a hurt, “good” girl. Every other character is likewise flawed to the point of being unlikable - at the same time, they're just human. Gifty spends a lot of time working her way through the evangelical/Pentecostal Christianity of her childhood with the STEM world of her adulthood - she uses both to try to explain her hurt, or at least soothe it, and both naturally fail (at least partly). Her life is completely caged by the tragedies of her brother and mom, and watching her try to explore what it means to just live - just enjoy people, have relationships, explore and be curious - was painful. So many fits and starts! So much caution! I do so hope this fictional character discovers Nar-Anon and goes to therapy!!
I love any stories that centralize the experience of immigration; and this certainly had a lot of that. Gifty's parents are Ghanaian immigrants to Alabama. The culture shock, oh man, is REAL. Especially the insidious and structural racism. This kinda reminded me of the wonderful Mississippi Masala (one of my fave movies!), about Indian-Ugandan immigrants to Mississippi. If I would criticize anything about this book, it's that the Alabaman supporting cast felt underdeveloped and thin. Everyone was just kinda a “basic white Southerner” from central casting.
Yo, so this is basically our reality. Except (for now) we carry the machine (i.e. laptop) around a little bit. But there really is no point to this carrying around and I presume we'll stop doing that soon and just sit. But for now:
- I carry my laptop to work, where I then sit (or stand) and stare and peck at it for 9 hours.
- I carry it home, where I lounge and stare at it.
- I order my food from it.
- I get my jobs from it.
- I learn lots of things from it.
- I talk to my family and friends through it.
- I reminisce with it.
- I plan my life in it.
- I'm sitting and staring and pecking at it right now, for the ten gazillion millionth hour I seem to have done this in my waking life.
If there isn't something totally unnatural and unholy with this way of living - yeesh.
Anyway, this is a short story written before sci-fi Officially Began; but it's basically the ancestor to so many other stories which confront the anxiety of becoming big fleshy extensions to our screens. (The best of which, in my mind, is still M.T. Anderson's Feed.) People live underground, in pleasantly lit rooms surrounded by pleasant screens and buttons which feed them, inform them, and cater to their animal and spiritual needs. People are mostly preoccupied with “ideas” - making new ones, interpreting old ones - and one is immediately reminded of the great tides of roiling indignitude on Twitter in the Neverending Social Justice War, or the endless thinkpieces on Slate and Vox and AV Club about what last night's episode of fictional entertainment Means, in some faux philosophical sense. These underdwellers are also made incredibly anxious by “direct experience”, find the natural world ugly and boring, and have become hyper-specialized in their technological understanding: no one quite knows how the whole Machine works.
Hmmm.
So this is basically us, right now. The story follows an elderly lady whose son (the usual hero protagonist type) is a drone trying to break free of his dystopian shackles. She is horrified - as anyone with an older mom can imagine. He is a back-to-nature type who manages to visit the surface by clambering through a bunch of tunnels. He describes a moment (and I paraphrase) when all of his 1000 friends/followers and all his Internet memes are rendered small by his communion with nature: his gazing at some boring, ugly English hills. I was reminded of a similar feeling I had on a camping trip once: suddenly my computer - great source of joy and comfort and fascinating that it is - great holder of great minds like Turing and von Neumann - seemed small and stupid in comparison to, say, the food chain, or natural selection. Which means... I guess... we should all be biologists? And just marvel at the abundance of life on this planet, rather than having screens interpret them for us and being “passive subjects that contemplate the reified spectacle” (as Guy Debord would say)? I realize the irony of pecking all this into my screen! I realize, with horror, the rarity that “direct experience” has indeed become! Gaaaarghhhh.
Maybe 3.5?
An eco-dystopia about a bio-apocalypse end times, this book was super readable (such plot!) but ultimately left me pretty meh on its themes and characters.
May I disclaim: I love and worship at the shrine of Margaret Atwood's angry, feminist, other dystopian classic, The Handmaid's Tale. I mean, I am not joking here, I read this book WHILE WEARING A HANDMAID'S TALE TSHIRT (order yours today), which is what I like to wear to work sometimes as a sort of moral “stay gold, ponygirl” talisman, as a way to lend myself a little bit of punk.
But while Handmaid's Tale is singular and dark and angry AND SO PUNK, with the wit of sharp knives, Oryx and Crake is, instead, kinda cliche and more like the pretty straightforward alt rock of dystopias. The protagonist's dark, angry, witty turmoil just feels blah, and the overall worldbuilding is pretty reheated.
Basic plot: The world is a post-apocalyptic trash heap, with many signs of eco-chaos: scorching UV, too many bugs, crazy storms. Also, lots of genetically modified freak show animals wander around such as: neon green rabbits, “pigoons”, “rakunks”, and so on. There is one normal-seeming (as in, human) dude, Jimmy (alias Snowman), of indeterminate age but very crusty, very gross, and very depressed. He is surrounded by a large group of naked innocenti semi-humans with super firm bods and blank stares/empty heads. The book follows Snowman's angry, crusty meditations on how shit came to this: mostly as he (A) tells “the Children of Crake” (the naked bimbos and himbos nearby) about their magical Godhead, “Crake” (who is clear, early on, was Snowman's pre-apocalypse friend), and (B) flashbacks to his childhood, adolescence, and young adult years.
In Plot A, basically nothing happens, beyond Snowman being miserable and the world being over. So you spend most of the book chomping at the bit of Plot B: what happened???? you are made to ask. It's also clear, early on, that Crake (formerly Glenn) was a genius, and a total asshole, and so I guess A MAD SCIENTIST. Anyway, the world turns to gray goo, except it's red goo (cuz blood; warning for gore). And Margaret Atwood's plotting and pacing is AIRTIGHT, I tell you.
The book also ends on a cliffhanger. ATWOOOOOOOD!!! shaking fist
Now, I have, in my time, enjoyed dystopias. We live, after all, in an age of compiling existential threats: nuclear war, bio-apocalypse (Gates worried publicly about this last month), AI apocalypse (Elon Musk, Stephen Hawking, and Gates are all worried about this), and the almost-banal-because-it's-true climate change/eco-collapse. We are definitely accumulating ways to wipe ourselves out here. Someone (Musk?) GET US OFF THIS ROCK. And the fictional dystopias thus proliferate (here's a website that lets you tick off dystopias that have already come true/are already possible). Someday I will write a meditation on why we can't envision utopias anymore, not since good ol' Star Trek: The Next Generation, but how important that would be. We need a religion! We need a vision to aspire to! Anyway.
Anyway.
Anyway, given this dystopia glut, as well as the real existential threats, I have become picky. In terms of bio-dystopias, Oryx & Crake is kinda middling: I liked the dark, gory hilariousness of Blood Music more, and the eco-points of The Windup Girl (yes, even that) more.
I did like Atwood's portrayal of a decaying society, one just on the verge of apocalypse. This is rarely done (usually the schism between Before and After is very stark; where Before is basically a pretty nice Now, and After is an unrecognizable hellscape). One other good portrayal of a “twilight” society sliding into the abyss is the original Mad Max - things feel basically “normal”, yet there are weird, jarring, discordant moments (wtf motorcycle gangs); a permeating uneasiness that's hard to pin down (well, I guess it was the amoral motorcycle gangs). Compare this, of course, to the Much Further Along the Road to Hell version of dystopia portrayed in the latest Mad Max (via my favorite scene!). Life sucks in that desert hellworld, but it's also... kinda fun? Kinda thrilling? It's become coherent again; an internally consistent world/culture. The original Mad Max, and the moments in flashback in Oryx & Crake, instead, portray the slowly shifting ground beneath our feet: things LOOK the same as now, but FEEL wrong. Eerie! V. good.
Oh yeah, Station Eleven is another bio-apocalypse. I rated it 4?! I guess I have higher standards for Margaret. Anyway, this one's probably better than that. Station Eleven is just super vanilla “everyone got sick and died, disaster movie, no nvm some people are OK”. This is a bit cleverer than that (what with the God and morality stuff). But I will not spoilerize, so - read it??
ATWOOOOOOOOO
Art was beautiful. MT Anderson I respect and admire because of his mind-bending, mind-opening YA novel, Feed. But I didn't care for this. The daughters were both unpleasant and unlikable. The plotting had that stodgy, meandering, Medieval myth vibe. The setting was imaginative and fantastical (yay), but I was relieved when it was over. Apparently it's a Breton myth.
Boy, was this a slog. I do not care about dogs!! Of any color! In/around/under other objects! Why does that hound hate on the poodle's hats?! Why is she constantly seeking his praise? Poodle, you do not need external validation.
One star for the dog party finale in a tree. One additional star because my kid actually really likes this book. WHY?!
Gorgeous design and illustration; what a palette! I love the desaturated, retro, minimalist look. A bittsweet, circle of life story. A celebration of farm life (if you're into that).
A sweet, well-intentioned, but ultimately uneven YA graphic novel about some magical folks and their super low-key, super we're-not-worried horse demon problem.
SO! Pluses:
- Excellent representation. One of the protagonists is hard of hearing, the other is non-binary. There are a couple lesbian grandmothers. And everyone is mostly easy-going, kind, and accepting. This is a breath of fresh air!!
- The art is mostly lovely, with a cozy aesthetic that is easy to get into.
- The ghost parents still being awkward parents was great.
- Pigeon-headed cousin. “Don't ask him about it, he still feels bad.” HA!
The cons:
- The book club agreement was that this was a slice of life story trying to break free of its awkwardly-middling-stakes supernatural thriller. Like, there is a horse demon roaming the forest. This is... dangerous? Bad? Not desirable? Everyone is like, “oh, that's no good” but in the same way you might remark on a pothole in your street. Everyone is quite chill about this HORSE DEMON and so I'm like, I do not care about this horse demon.
- The supernatural elements - the worldbuilding - also felt quite light, and left me wanting more.
Overall, it was fine, if a bit light. I would 100% be down for slice-of-life vignettes from this world.
More like “one moralizing journey”. Our imminent eco collapse is not because we're not re-using a paper bag over multiple generations. Good God. WHERE IS THE GRETA THUNBERG BOARD BOOK?! Eco collapse is a systemic problem - it needs systemic solutions. Political solutions. Not bottom-up consumer guilt! I could recycle forever but if you're still shoving “GDP must grow -> profits must increase -> you must buy buy buy” down my throat, it doesn't matter if I have twenty recyclable bags or twenty “single use” plastic ones. In March 2020, everyone I knew suddenly stopped emitting CO2. Did we see a big bump in eco purity? I think not! Looks like me driving to work is not the main constraint on averting climate collapse!
So if you can't tell, this book rubbed me the wrong way. At least it answered my kid's questions regarding where paper comes from (“trees.”).
A very, very rare DNF on a comix! But I just couldn't do it. I picked this up since it won the Eisner for best graphic novel or comic series or something. I read the first two issues. The dialogue, plotting, and characterization all felt ham-fisted. Like, the evil Mother Superior, the “deep state”-type conspiracy, the Han Solo/Firefly motley crew spaceship, etc. The only thing I liked was that this far future envisioned us still being trapped in a materialist/consumerist nightmare monopolized by Amazon “Lux”.
Saga remains the space opera to beat!
Updated review from 2022: Ok, tried this again for a book club. BUT I REFUSE. My Gaiman hate remains strong. Sorry, Neil Gaiman. I don't even get it. But I was so mad as I read this. It felt sexist? The emotional reactions felt shallow? I dunno, man, sorry sorry sorry.
—-
Poor Neil Gaiman. He is the target of my irrational wrath. But there's something about his mini-culture empire/personality cult that just... “Khaaaaan!”
Anyway. American Gods is based on a semi-cool/semi-cute premise: immigrants come to America and discard their gods (coughethnic heritagecough) during the process of assimilation. As a result, the spiritual landscape is peopled by wandering Odins, Durgas and... I can't remember any more. Then there's a conflict which I've also forgotten. I guess I was annoyed that, for a story purporting to cry out for the poor immigrants, it chose the most Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian of heroes: Odin. Or was it (by the hammer of) THOR? Either way, it left me cold.
Two stars for decent writing, and the possibility that I am missing something fundamental about the Gaiman cult.
This was exactly what I was in the mood for: historical fiction that is narrowly domestic and quotidian. Unfortunately, I didn't like this AT ALL.I mean, I feel like a jerk saying that, since it is about maternal grief, but oof. I just really didn't like Agnes. Another critical review noted that she's a sort of caricatured magical wise woman you see in historical fiction. Indeed she is. I would go even further: she's basically a manic pixie dream girl, wood elf edition, who emancipates a (very boring) Will Shakespeare from his overbearing family. She's like those basic ladies on Facebook groups talking up all-juice detoxes and essential oils. The white ladies that say “namastay” unironically. Oh man did I get tired of hearing which herb she was going to grind up for which ailment. Oh dear did I stop caring about her mystical, magical, dreamy feminine Earth mother powers.There was just something about the way this was written. Everyone was exactly as they appeared - the characterizations just felt so flat and godawful boring. Agnes is faced with not one but two old gossipy crones (her stepmother and mother-in-law). How very cliche! There are bodice ripper-style sex scenes complete with jiggling apples which... okay, that did make me laugh. But I dunno, man, I just found the whole thing kinda trashy and lame. Of course, YMMV - this book has a kabillion glowing 5-star reviews, so I'm def in the minority. Let's just say: it is what it says on the tin, but not much else. Please never speak to me of comfrey again. Though I guess this did inspire me to make my own potpourri. :
Literary, social justice sci-fi, examining the understandable rage at America's white supremacist systems. I didn't love this, though, since the sci-fi elements felt unearned and kinda hand-wavey - like, the sister can basically do anything (teleport, telepathy, telekinesis... I guess all the tele's). The ultimate vision is also quite apocalyptic and violent revolution, which was, well, also a bummer.
A sweet and empowering children's story about gender differences and transgender acceptance. A wonderful celebration of Pacific island cultures, as well as a big-hearted acceptance of a non-binary spirit. Really nice.
Sweet, humanistic, often moving. Similar vibes to Etre et Avoir, the documentary of French schoolchildren. Read this in one sitting and FELT VERY REFRESHED.
Again, who is the audience of this cynical, gag series of baby university books?! Not interesting for babies. Not funny enough for parents, beyond the first-impact “heh” when you see the title. Enough! I banish these from baby registries everywhere. These are like those “World's Okayest Boss” mugs, but even those are better, because (a) a mug is functional, and (b) those are funny.
Four stars because I do love Bayes.